Third Eye Blind
by Carole C
Summary: Threefold Cord AU. "There is none so blind as he who will not see." The Winchesters take on a shape-shifter with an ambitious wealth acquisition plan. Sam, Dean, OFC.
1. Chapter 1

_**THEN:**_

She was naked. She was always naked. Standing with her shoulders back, her hair tumbling all over that white skin like curls of fire, a triumphant, gloating, almost evil expression on her face as she smiled at him. Her blue eyes flicked glowing red from corner to corner.

He tried to yell warning to Sam, somewhere behind him, but it was as if his throat was stuffed full of rags. She looked into his eyes, and started to laugh. "You don't have ten years," she taunted. "You don't have ten months. You don't even have ten minutes."

Her chest opened up and seething orange light spilled out.

Dean gasped and jerked straight up.

Sam snorted and rolled over in the other bed, half-rising. "You ok?" he mumbled.

June was already on her knees behind Sam, her pupils flashing green in the light from the bathroom.

"Yeah, just a nightmare," Dean told him. "No big deal. Go back to sleep."

Sam looked at him a moment longer until Dean lay back down. Sam did too, and June went back to fur, her head resting on Sam's hip, eyes closed.

Dean waited until he felt Sam drift back into sleep. Figured June was out too. He slid out of bed and went to the bathroom. His head was about to split. As he was shaking aspirin into his palm, June whispered from the doorway.

"You sure you're ok?"

He startled so hard, he almost spilled the pills down the drain. "I'm fine," he hissed. "Hung over. Go the hell to bed!"

She flinched back from his vehemence and he closed the door in her face. Dean swallowed the aspirin, chased it with a gulp from the faucet, then leaned on the sink, staring into his own dim reflection. It was just a stupid dream... had to be. Just a creative nightmare fueled by too much beer and greasy food and his own well-honed paranoia.

_**NOW:**_

"Huh."

"Huh what huh?" Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam, working at the table on his computer, while he cleaned firearms and June sharpened blades.

Sam leaned back in his chair. "The gender didn't track, so I wasn't certain I was seeing a real pattern to these cases, but... I didn't expect this."

"Enlighten us further, oh cryptic one?" Dean went and leaned over Sam's shoulder to look at the screen. He blurted a laugh. "? Care to explain why you've followed that one enough to catch a pattern?"

"We all have our guilty pleasures," Sam told him, without looking up from the computer. "You have a standing date with Dr. Dreamy, care to explain that?"

"You have a bad habit of answering a question with a question, anybody ever told you that?" Dean said instead. "Ok, so what's this surprising pattern?"

"It's a long chain of possible swindles, exactly the same. A man or woman of considerable wealth and social standing, swept off their feet by a soul-mate after a chance meeting. They marry within weeks, months at the most. Before the wedding cake goes stale, the loaded spouse commits suicide. Their heartbroken soul-mate mourns publicly while privately liquidating all available assets, then disappears. As in, ceases to exist."

"Cash evaporates too, I bet."

Sam nods.

"Ok, does sound fishy, but you said the genders don't track. Think it's a switch-hitter con artist, or some kind of ring?" Dean asked.

June came around to Sam's other side and laid an arm across his shoulders. Sam leaned against her side. The two couldn't be within arm's length without contact. Dean edged away from Sam without giving it much thought when he felt the first tingle of full-on connection. It was all becoming almost unconscious habit for them now.

Sam shook his head. "For one thing, it's been going on for at least thirty years, so I didn't consider it could be the same person. Another thing, the Princes and Princesses Charming haven't been shy about being photographed. But when this newest case popped up, something nagged at me about the photos. Watch this."

An old photo came up on the screen of a mid-thirties man, morphed into a mature, striking woman with silver hair, then into a gorgeous twenty-something woman, then into a man who looked like a senior captain of industry. On and on, one face melting into another, with only one unchanging constant. The eyes.

"Shape-shifter," Dean growled. "I hate those silly-putty bastards. They're all six kinds of crazy. Why can't at least one of 'em be a regular joe for a change?"

"Because if they are, they stay off our radar," Sam said.

"True," Dean nodded. "Ok, so if this is a shape-shifter con-artist murderer, then how are we gonna find it before it cashes in its next mark?

"Society pages, maybe?" June guessed. "Depending on when the last mark offed themselves?"

"Which was a little over a year ago... so... " Sam started clicking and after a few minutes of watching random cities' society pages scroll past almost too fast to scan, Dean drifted back to his gun-cleaning and June followed.

"Thank you, Facebook." Sam looked over with a triumphant grin, over an hour later. "Nailed the bastard."

He turned the laptop around, to show them a video of a swanky engagement party already in progress. "Watch... right... here." Sam paused the video. The happy groom-to-be glanced towards the camera and lifted his champagne glass. His eyes flared flat gold for that one split-second.

"Proof enough for me," Dean agreed. "But... " He leaned closer and frowned at the title. "Miriam Taberson... why does that sound vaguely familiar?"

"Maybe because Miri's dear ol' Dad started the Biggerson's-BiggerMart empire?"

Dean whistled. "They're in like, the billionaire zone now, right?"

"Forbes Four Hundred, three hundred-seventy four with a bullet."

"This thing must be another freakin' Abagnale to get that close to her," Dean said.

"Yeah, 'cause even though she's thirty-two and on her own, I doubt Daddy would've let any ol' mutt off the street wander in close enough to sniff up his only baby's skirt," June muttered.

"Such a charming way with words," Dean commented.

"But accurate," Sam shrugged. "Which begs the question of how we're going to get close enough to take him out before he svengali's Miriam into making herself his personal piggy bank."

"Silver ammo, a high-powered rifle and a good scope?" June suggested brightly.

"Damn you're a blood-thirsty little beast!" Dean ruffled her hair. "It's your best quality."

"Too risky for us. I'd rather we try persuasion before we go all lone-gunman on a rooftop somewhere," Sam said. "If we can convince Miriam to kick her fiance to the curb, then nobody with clout will be watching him. We can make our move then."

"When's the wedding?" Dean asked.

"Next Saturday, at seven," Sam said.

"Doesn't leave us much time," Dean grumbled. "Where's the ceremony?"

"St. Mark's, in Bensonville, Arkansas."

"That really doesn't leave us much time. Stuff and scoot, Marmaduke."

-oOo-

"It seems our best bets to get to Ms. Taberson would be as reporters or event-planner staff," Sam mused as he rooted through Miriam Taberson's digital life, public and not.

"With a blow-out that big, it's guaranteed there's gonna be some kind of frou-frou crisis at least twice a day, so we could probably bluff our way in as staff," Dean mused. "She'd be more likely to clear her schedule for a wedding snafu than for a pair of reporters."

"Mmmhmm," Sam mused, already absorbed in the gathering of pertinent information and IDs to fake.

"Y'all are gonna need new suits," June commented.

"Why? Got a perfectly good one, even had it cleaned," Dean asked.

"Yeah- a suit fit for a reporter or a Fed or something. You're gonna need something more... um... festive, if you're gonna pass yourselves off as high-end wedding planner assistants."

"She has a point," Sam mumbled.

"No. No way. We'll make what we have work." Dean grinned and flexed his shoulders. "Besides, it's all in the presentation, baby."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Oakwood Clothier, Memphis TN**_

"I hate your dog," Dean grumbled, "So damn much."

He flinched as his crotch measurement was taken and scowled at the smirk on Sam's face.

"Old news," Sam said. "But you have to admit she's right. The upper echelon can spot cheap off-the-rack a block away."

"But we don't know if we can even get in to see the queen bee," Dean groused, "And this is gonna burn a damn card right here."

"Eggs, omelets. Hey, look at it this way. If nothing bleeds or slimes on you, you'll come out of this with one hell of a sharp suit, regardless."

"My heart's all aflutter. Where is your little bitch, anyway?"

The tailor shot him a disapproving glance. Dean glared at him until the man scurried away.

"She's out getting her own party clothes."

"Great, just great," Dean muttered under his breath. "That'll smoke another one."

_**Bensonville, AR**_

Gathering enough information on the wedding planner to create passable aliases was scary-easy. After that, it was all making a convincing phone call and suiting up.

June let out a low wolf-whistle when she stepped out of the bathroom. "Oh my word," she laughed, and fanned herself with a hand. "I feel like I've walked into one of my fondest GQ fantasies!"

Sam laughed and straightened his tie. "Thanks, but keep it to yourself for now."

Dean grinned and struck a runway pose, then gave her a wink and an exaggerated up and down. "You clean up pretty good yourself, Trouble."

When she wore clothes at all, they were sack-like pieces of crap she could duck out of in two seconds flat, so most of the time she looked like an orphan from a convent that took poverty vows seriously. Dean was certain she wouldn't be shifting out of this get-up without some serious lead time. "You gonna be able to walk in those stilts?"

"Watch me," she tossed over her shoulder as she sashayed towards the door.

Yeah. He was watching. Sam, he realized, wasn't.

"You awake?" He jerked a thumb to where June performed a lady-like dip to pick up her portfolio, turning that skirt into a spectacle illegal in the bible belt.

Sam glanced that way and then gave him a shrug. "Which of us is going to take lead over there?"

"That dog's unplugged a few cables in your gourd," Dean muttered under his breath.

Sam just waited, lips thinned.

"You," Dean conceded after a few silent seconds. "You came closer than I ever have to white lace and promises."

And that ill-timed crack did not help the atmosphere one bit, he realized way too late as Sam nodded and stalked out like some pissed off lesser Armani, June clicking along in his wake, struggling to keep up in her dangerous heels.

Even though he brought up the rear, he didn't enjoy it now.

-oOo-

"Open sesame," Dean murmured as the heavy, ornate gates of the Taberson estate swung open for Baby in all her caranuba-waxed, lovingly buffed glory.

"Impressive," Sam commented, lounging back in his seat.

"Wow. My high-school wasn't that big," June said

Sam chuckled. "Sweetheart, your whole town isn't this big."

"True," she nodded.

"Still don't see why we couldn't have done this straight-up as Feds," Dean groused.

"Because if we had, instead of getting past the gate, we'd find ourselves wading through a pack of top-drawer legal sharks backed up by the district attorney and probably the governor, too." Sam glanced at him with a sly grin. "Quit whinging over the suits."

"I feel like I'm wearing hundred-dollar bills on my back," Dean grumbled.

"You are, sugar. That's kinda the whole point," June laughed.

Dean pulled around to the rear of the mansion, to the service entrance and parking. Even that was swanky. It didn't surprise anyone that the entrance door swung open for them as they approached and they were ushered in by some minor functionary.

A few billion dollars bought an impressive array of security measures. Dean made what he hoped were covert observations as they were shepherded through the home to Miriam Taberson's inner sanctum. He was certain Sam was doing the same. No matter how good their mental notes, he was pretty sure they missed some stuff.

Still, the best security in the world is only as good as the meatware, and the meatware in this case had been easily spoofed by their faked credentials and Sam's imperious, prissy persona. They were dropped off just inside a reception area roughly the size of a basketball court. The Holy of Holies was obviously beyond a set of imperial double doors, guarded by a dark-haired woman behind an ornate desk, who eyed them with a quelling professional assessment.

"Mr. Hartmann, Mr. Garner, Ms. Larkin," the woman nodded in acknowledgment as they approached her altar. "May I see your identifications, please?"

Her voice was a sensual, Hebrew-flavored caress. You can take the girl out of Mossad...

"I'm sorry, but Ms. Taberson has been detained," she informed them as she handed their credentials back. "Please, make yourselves comfortable."

She sent them to wait across the room where a grouping of plush sofas and chairs huddled together, probably for warmth in this well-heeled barn of a room. He and Sam put their heads together over gourmet coffee and Sam's portfolio of 'wedding plans,' getting their stories lined up and comparing notes on the security they'd spotted.

June rose after a moment and approached the receptionist with all her charm shining. Dean listened with half an ear as June chatted her up. By the time she got around to asking questions about Miriam's shifty shifter, Dean realized June was flirting outrageously, and a stealthy glance over his shoulder showed him that Dimona- they were on first name basis now- was flirting back just as blatantly. Whatever, it was working.

By the time Miriam buzzed for them, June had the fiance's name, age, phone number, place of employment and for all he knew, the bastard's cup size. He was pretty sure she also had Dimona's phone number as well, but he wasn't about to ask about that either.

"Ms. Taberson will see you now," the receptionist called across the room to them, and led them all over a few more acres of carpet so thick you could sprain an ankle in the stuff. When she opened the thick inner office door, Dean wasn't sure if they were supposed to shake hands, genuflect or give a full salaam.

The woman pacing in front of a desk roughly the size of the Impala held up a restraining hand, her focus obviously on her earpiece. "I accept your apologies, but they won't make that shipment arrive on the loading dock by the deadline. You find another source or we'll make other arrangements."

She tugged the earpiece off and laid it on her desk, tucking a displaced strand of hair back into order as she turned. Dean decided that the woman, for all her wealth, did not photograph well. The real deal was an intriguing mix of mismatched features that went from homely to striking and all points in between with every change of angle.

"Gentlemen," she sighed. "Please tell me that you can handle whatever this crisis is on your own." She gestured to the plush chairs in front of her desk, and leaned her hips back against the edge. "Please, be comfortable."

He and Sam sat down, and June perched herself on an overgrown ottoman slightly behind Sam, the perfectly inconspicuous assistant's assistant.

"Actually, we can, Ms. Taberson- but the crisis you're facing is much more serious than a problem with legal capacity of the venue," Sam began, leaning forward slightly.

Miriam closed her eyes. "The church has burned down, hasn't it?"

"No, nothing's wrong with the church," Sam assured her. "But we have information regarding your fiance and his true motives toward you that you need to act on immediately."

"Information on Douglas? What are you talking about? Who are you, really?"

Miriam straightened from her half-sit, her voice going sharp.

Sam glanced at Dean and they both reached into their breast pockets as if the move was rehearsed. "I'm Agent Hartman," Sam told her, "This is my partner Agent Garner, FBI Fraud Division."

"Agent Larkin, ma'am," June spoke up and flashed her own badge. "Forensics division."

"Forensics and fraud?" Miriam gasped. "Exactly what is this about, Agents?"

"Ms. Taberson, we have strong reason to suspect that Douglas L. Forsyth is the perpetrator of a large number of fraudulent marriages for financial gain."

"All ending in the suspected murder of his unfortunate spouse, and an illegally plundered estate," Dean added.

Miriam went white and sank back onto the edge of her desk again. "Douglas? No- no- I don't believe you. There must be some terrible mistake! Douglas has never been married! Believe me, Agents, I performed my own quite thorough background check before he and I became serious. I'm not some foolish young woman with stars in her eyes, blind to reality."

"I'm sure you're not, Ms. Taberson," Sam assured her. "But this criminal is a consummate professional. He's made an entire career of preying on women as intelligent and cautious as yourself, and has covered his tracks almost completely."

"Until now," Dean added. "He's over-reached himself, going for you. Become a little too public for his own security.

"We request that you delay your wedding while we conduct our investigation," Sam told her in his mildest tone.

Miriam drew herself together, despite the lingering paleness around her mouth. "No. That is not possible. I refuse to change my plans."

"A few days, a couple of weeks at the most, that's all we're asking," Dean said. "By then we'll have enough tangible evidence to clear Mr. Forsyth or to make an arrest."

"I know Douglas, Agents. I trust the sources who gathered information on his identity and background. I want to see proof of these allegations before I say one more word without my lawyers present."

"Agent Larkin?" Dean said. June rose and moved to Miriam's side.

"Ms. Taberson, we aren't at liberty to disclose details of an ongoing investigation, but if you feel it necessary to double-check our credentials you may speak to our Regional Director." She handed the woman a business card with a number that would ring one of the eleven or twelve phones hanging in Bobby's kitchen.

Miriam dropped it onto the desk as if it were slimy. "Then we are at an impasse, gentlemen, Ms. Larkin. Unless I'm subpoenaed or you can produce convincing evidence of your allegations, I have nothing further to say to you."

She moved around behind her desk and pushed a button. "Dimona, see that these Agents are escorted off the property. They are not to return without a warrant."

She looked up as the office door opened behind them. "Forgive me for not wishing you good day."


	3. Chapter 3

"That could have gone better," Dean commented as the huge ornate gates clanged shut scant inches behind the Impala's rear bumper.

"She's loyal to a fatal fault, gotta give her that," Sam commented, reaching for his sunglasses.

"Loyal?" June scoffed from the back seat, wiggling out of her suit jacket. "Try hexed up the hoohah."

"That's unexpected," Dean glanced at her in the rear view.

"What did you pick up?" Sam asked.

"Very peculiar scents. Cherry blossoms, some sort of dried up egg, probably a swan's since I smelled their feathers too-"

"You can not only smell a feather but know what bird it came from?" Sam blurted.

"Well, sure, if I've smelled 'em before. My Mamere kept swans and she'd let me sleep with her when I stayed over. Her pillows were stuffed with swansdown. Anyway, there was something else that smelled maybe like daisies, a few other herbal scents I couldn't pin down, and of course, the usual dried human blood."

"A love charm?" Dean asked.

"Sounds like it," Sam said. "And a strong one, if there was a swan's egg in the mix. They mate for life."

"Well damn, this puts a kink in things. She's not going to believe us even when he puts a gun in her hand, if she's under the influence," Dean said.

"Did you get a fix on where the hex bag might be hidden?" Sam asked.

June kicked off her shoes and pulled a foot up into her lap, rubbing it with a groan. "The air mixes so well in there it would be hard to pin down without sniffing around behind the furniture. It could have been one big hex bag, or a lot of little ones. No way to tell without a treasure hunt."

"And I have a feeling we'd have better luck breaking into the White House right about now," Dean muttered.

"So we go for the shifter," Sam answered, his voice hard. "At least now we know where he's supposed to be working, up in Springfield."

"But no telling what face he uses up there," Dean huffed.

"Wonder if they always smell the same?" June piped up from the back.

Dean glanced at Sam to find Sam looking at him with an equally startled expression.

"Maybe they do," Sam said.

"I'd bet on it," Dean agreed. "They make themselves into perfect physical copies, but it's all stretchy skin-deep. That's all they shed when they change forms."

"So not genetic clones?" June asked.

"Probably not," Sam agreed. "But where are we going to get his scent?"

"I wonder if he's been fitted for his tux yet?" June mused.

"Wouldn't happened to have found out which tailor the grooms-men are using when you hacked into that wedding planner's system, would you?" Dean asked.

"As a matter of fact," Sam grinned. He pulled out his phone and turned on the navigator. "Take the next right."

-oOo-

Forty-five minutes later they were back in their motel room, packing up while June repeated all of Dimona's information and opinions. "Oh, and one other thing- she said his dog just died of cancer, and he's pretty broken up about it. Went the whole satin-lined casket, pet cemetery route.

"That could be a way to get to him," Sam mused.

"Unless his dead pooch was a chihuahua or one of those other little yappers," Dean said.

"Nope, it was a Bernese Mountain Dog. They don't live long, I hear," June said.

"I've been wonderin'," Dean said, as he hefted his duffel to his shoulder, "Just what do you think about dogs? Real ones."

"_I'm_ real."

He gave her a look.

"Ok, ok. PC term is bestial, as if you're ever gonna bother with that. Anyway, personally? They kind of skeeve me out. It's like looking into a person's eyes and seeing that the lights are on but nobody's home."

"Oh, so like when Sam's around clowns."

"And when you're on a plane," Sam muttered and turned to June with open curiosity. "How do bestial dogs react to you?"

"It's a crap-shoot. Usually they avoid me, or ignore me. But some are terrified and some go into instant attack mode. There's no predicting it."

"Ok, so we'll hope he only had the one, so we can try a poor sad-eyed stray routine on him," Sam said. "If we can get you into his apartment, it'll be better than any mechanical surveillance we could plant."

_**Springfield, MO**_

Dean lounged on the bed, Magic Fingers purring, pizza box on his chest. "This is the best surveillance scheme _ever._"

Sam hit the far end of the room again and pivoted to pace back the way he came. Wouldn't be so bad if he could time his TV crossings with the commercial breaks.

"Sure. It's perfection. She puts her ass on the line and we sit on ours and wait for her phone calls."

"She's safer with him than with us. He's crazy about her. She's eating better than we are, too." He licked tomato sauce off his fingers. "Steak's steak, man, even if it's raw and in a dog bowl."

Sam grabbed the pizza box and tossed it onto the floor, sending a few black olives bouncing across the linoleum. "You think it's so great to eat off the floor, there ya go."

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Dean leaned down and retrieved the pizza box as it vibrated across the tile back towards the bed. "I can't say two words to you today without gettin' my head chewed off!"

"I don't know. Maybe because she's late checking in." Sam dropped onto the edge of his bed and raked his hands through his hair, elbows on his knees. "I'm wound so tight my skin's about to crawl off."

"Then take a pill or something. She's fine. You know she is. You'd feel it if she-"

Sam bolted to his feet, hand diving into his pocket for his phone. "Are you ok?" he blurted into it.

"There. Thank gawd," Dean muttered.

June's voice sighed out of the speaker. "I'm sorry I'm late, the stupid maid took forever today. I'm going crazy shut up in here, but I'm fine. Can't I just kill him and be done with it? I miss you. I want to come home..."

"And Lizzy Borden sleeps with you," Dean said under his breath. Sam probably didn't even hear him. Nothing existed for him right now but her voice on the phone. Damn he was so messed up... jonesing all over again, same song, different drug.

"No. We've been over that," Sam was saying. "We can't be certain yet he's the one pulling the scams."

"But his eyes," she whimpered, "In that video and in those morphs."

"It could be an imaging artifact on the video, and when I ran the morph last night with tighter parameters it indicated a very strong similarity instead of a perfect match. Sweetheart, he hasn't made any suspicious moves while we've been watching him. If he doesn't intend to hurt anyone, we can't kill him just because he's not human."

"There's that love-hex," Dean put in loud enough that Sam rolled his eyes at him and June probably heard him too.

"Yeah, what about that? That's proof, right?" she said.

"Not everyone who uses magic deserves the death penalty, either," Sam told them both. "That hex is underhanded and low but it's not life-threatening by itself. Look, I miss you like crazy too, but have you found out anything?"

"No, not even what this appointment is about." she groaned. "You're gonna have to sneak in here, he keeps everything on his laptop and I can't break his password."

"How long before he gets back?"

"Not long enough. I figured he'd be back at least a couple of hours ago. He's very rigid about my feeding and walking schedule and the maid's cynophobic. I've had to sit in a freakin' dog-crate all day with a sheet thrown over it."

"Think you can find a spare key?"

"I'm still looking. He's so anal, he has to have one stashed somewhere. I double-checked the street-door code and his alarm code this morning. I gave them to you right."

"Good. Even if you can't find the key, with the alarm disabled, we may be able to pop the lock when you both go to work tomorrow."

"I'll see if I can fubar the deadbolt, if I can't find the key tonight." She sighed again. "I hate this, and not just because I'm here and you're there. He's like, obsessively regimented, Sam, but he's so _nice_ to everybody and he treats me like gold. He even chipped me today, Sam. He took me to the vet for a bunch of shots and freakin' chipped me! You're gonna have to dig that thing out when we're done or I'll be lo-jacked!"

Ouch. Beer backing up through the nose really burns.

"We'll deal with it. June, the wedding's-"

"He's coming in!" she hissed in a whisper into the phone. "Oh man- he's _crying,_ Sam!"

The connection broke.


	4. Chapter 4

Douglas dropped his keys on the foyer table and staggered into the living room, wracked with harsh, heartbroken sobs. He collapsed on the couch, face against his knees, his hands clenched over the back of his head, knotted in his hair.

June crept up with a low whine and worked her muzzle in under his arm to lick at his tear-wet face. For a long time, he didn't react, then he slid off onto the floor and wrapped his arms around her.

"Why?" he sobbed into the fur of her neck. "What am I going to do now?"

All she could offer was another low whine.

-oOo-

"I'm ok," was the first thing she said when Sam answered her call. Dean knew she'd probably caught the jolt of anxiety that flashed across Sam's face when she called off-schedule. Her voice was low, and sounded stressed even over the phone.

"You don't feel ok," Sam said.

"I'm... honestly, I don't know what I am," she sighed. "I found out what the hysterics were about. He's dying, Sam."

Whoa. Was not expecting that.

"What?" Sam blurted, looking as bewildered as he felt.

"That appointment was with a specialist, an oncologist. He's eaten up with cancer, Sam. He said that the doctor told him he's got a few weeks at the most. Some kind of jacked up super-rot they've never seen before. It's spread all over."

"He told you all this?" Sam frowned.

"No- and that's the other thing. When he calmed down a little, he called someone. The witch who'd cooked up that love-hex came over. He begged her for something, anything, to cure him or at least buy him some time. She told him that she didn't have anything that powerful, but she knew who did. But it would cost him... big."

"And the going price is?" Dean interjected, feeling his arms pucker with goosebumps. Curing some dude stuffed solid with the big C was going to take virgins' hearts and burned baby's bones level hoodoo.

"His soul. She told him how to cut a crossroads deal, what he needs for summoning, where there's a graveled road around here, what the demon will look like, everything. He's gotten the ritual offering together already. He's gonna do this tomorrow, y'all, midnight on the full moon, the whole nine."

"Where is he now?"

"In bed, drugged up on pain meds. He'll be out for hours probably."

"Sounds like prime time to Kevork this sucker. He carries around that girly little pocket pistol, right?" Dean aimed two fingers at the phone. "Double-tap him in his sleep, Cerberus. Everybody's problems solved."

"Dean, would you- June! Stop!" Sam snapped in that pissed-god tone he used when he was pulling a puppet-master on her.

Dean rubbed away his grin before Sam saw it. He'd bet the little mook already had her hand in Forsyth's trouser pocket. "Why the hell not?" he protested for her because he was also pretty sure June's jaw was locked too.

Sam massaged his forehead, and glared at him, and Dean knew June felt that dirty-diaper look too. "Sometimes the two of you scare the shit out of me. _He's still not done anything we can gank him for. _Making a crossroads deal is desperate and stupid, but it's not a capital offense."

Dean closed his eyes against the memories.

"So you're saying we should let him cut his deal and buy ten extra years?" June protested.

"Sam," Dean gritted, maybe too low to carry to June, "You know that's no bargain. Even if we've fingered the wrong shifter, Dougie will be better off if she pops him right now and he floats away to wherever good little monsters go when they die."

"I'm sorry, Sam, but we're assuming a lot here," June protested almost at the same time, "And if he makes an 'ass of u and me,' then Miriam pays the price. Yeah, he's gonna ask to be healed, no doubt- but we don't know what other favors he might negotiate if he is a murderer."

A look passed over Sam's face he couldn't read. "Maybe we can let him negotiate his deal whatever it is, no harm, no foul to anybody."

"What?" Dean blurted, drowning out June's identical exclamation.

"Can you meet us down the street, behind that vacant coffee shop?" Sam asked her.

"Sure. He's out for the count."

-oOo-

"Ok, so how're we gonna convince the guy he's talking to a demon?" Dean said. "Even if we could get red contacts made in time, whichever of us is wearin' 'em will be stone-blind."

Sam bailed out of the car. Dean had his pistol half-drawn before he got turned enough to see Sam grab June up in a hug that looked like he intended to absorb her right through his shirt.

Dean turned back around, fiddled with the radio and studied the defunct coffee shop's peeling sign while they had their flowered field and weeping violins moment back there. The passenger doors opened before he got the window cranked down to snap at them to hurry up, so the WinReed amoeba had managed to divide again.

"Do you have control over your third eyelids?" Sam asked her almost before they got their cheeks on the seats.

"Her whats?" Dean asked, but they both ignored him. That was getting old.

June seemed startled, but nodded. "Sure." She widened her eyes.

Dean saw a transparent film roll across her eyeballs from inner to outer corners, then slide back, as quickly as a normal blink. "Why have you never told us about this?"

"Why have you never told me whether or not you're circumcised? Geez, like it's kinda personal?"

"How does he know about it?" Dean jerked his thumb towards Sam.

Sam shrugged. "When we went near that reeking store in the mall that sells lotions and candles? She sneezed. A lot. I got a glimpse."

"Oh yeah," Dean chuckled. "I remember that. Funny as hell. Thought you were gonna shoot yourself in the foot there, McGruff."

June refused to rise to the bait, but he could tell the effort was costing her.

"Still not seeing how that…" Dean circled his finger around his eye.

"Nictitating membrane," June supplied.

"Freakazoid eye-skin," Dean continued, "Is gonna help us. It's transparent."

"Yeah, but there's this extreme body-modification fad," Sam said. "Sclera tattoos. Maybe we could adapt the idea somehow."

"_Eye_ tattoos?" Dean echoed.

"Yeah, it started out as corneal tattooing for people with disfiguring scars and moved into the bod-mod crowd a few years ago. People have designs inked into their sclera, or they dye it some weird color." As he spoke, Sam opened his laptop and hit a few keys. He turned the computer around for Dean and June to see the images.

"Oh, nice. That's gonna get somebody killed," Dean grumbled at the screen.

June's nose wrinkled with disgust. "Gross! Why would anyone want to do that?"

"Who knows?" Sam said, clicking from the image search to information. "To stand out, to fit in, to freak out dear ol' Mom and Dad."

"To remove oneself permanently from any employment opportunity that doesn't require working a night shift behind reinforced glass for minimum wage," Dean added.

"These tattoos are permanent, but I'm thinking we could come up with some kind of temporary dye," Sam said. "Tint the membranes heavily enough, they'll look solid red at night, and she can flick them on or off at will."

June's eyebrows lifted into high arches. "You're thinking about sticking needles _into my eyes_?"

"Not your eyes, sweetheart," Sam said in a soothing croon. "Just your eyelids."

"Oh yeah, right. Thanks, Sam, that helps a lot!"

"You got a better idea?" Dean asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No—but give me a few minutes and I'll do my damnedest to come up with one!"

-oOo-

She was flat on her back on the motel room's bureau, head taped down, eyelids taped open, and holding onto Dean's hand with a grip that already had him squirming.

"You sure you want to go through with this?" Sam's concerned face blocked the bright light above her for a moment.

"Are you fuckin' crazy? Of course I'm not sure. Sam, just do it. Before I lose my nerve!"

"Can you feel this?" he touched her extended membrane with a swab.

"No—well, pressure, a little."

"Ok." He blew out a deep breath. "Just… try not to watch."

Like she could avoid it. Dean knew that gleaming needle had to loom as big as a baseball bat in her peripheral vision. He wondered if she could manage not to roll her eyes to look at it.

"That look real enough to you?" Sam asked, voice tense as he straightened and laid the syringe aside.

Dean reached with his free hand and turned off the lamp. June blinked with both sets of lids.

"Real enough for a full-moon midnight," Dean nodded. "June—any tighter and stuff's gonna start snapping."

She let go of his hand with a long, shaky exhalation. "It's not so bad, actually. Do the other one, Sam. This dresser is getting uncomfortable."

Her grip transferred to the edge of the bureau, blunt nails digging into the wood. Lying like the dog she was, but Dean wasn't going to call her on it this time.

"Can you see through it at all?" Sam asked as he drew up another syringe of the luminescent red-orange dye.

"Nothing, not even light and dark."

"I was afraid of that, but you shouldn't have to keep your eyelids closed long when the deal goes down." He leaned in again.

Dean forced himself to watch again. She couldn't blink, so he refused to either.


	5. Chapter 5

It went so smoothly, it made him nervous. June stole something from the summoning box before Forsyth took her out for the day's last walkies. The cat bones, he figured. Probably ate them.

She yanked the leash out of the guy's hand and took off down the street. Just another lost dog. At least, until she dove in the open back window and Sam tossed her some clothes.

They got to the crossroads in plenty of time to get set up. Perfect spot, way out in the country, fields all around it. No one close enough to do anything fast about a gunshot or two in the night. He could make out Sam's crouched form only because he knew exactly where to look. June he could feel, but he couldn't spot her at all, despite the abundance of white skin that black dress bared.

Ol' Dougie showed an hour before midnight. He almost felt sorry for the creep, watching him try to dig that hole in a road packed as hard as concrete. Even in the moonlight and through a night-scope, it was easy to see that the man was in some serious pain. Dude should have brought a mattock.

Probably took blisters and tears along with the sweat that made Forsyth's face gleam in the moonlight, but the man eventually gouged a hole in the road deep enough to cover the small summoning box. He leaned on the shovel, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face and hands.

"Hello?" he called out, turning around. "Anyone there?"

"You rang?" June asked brightly from behind him.

Douglas whirled, the shovel falling onto the gravel with a metallic clatter. Dean was impressed by her abrupt appearance. He wouldn't have guessed those weeds provided that much cover.

"Are you a-?"

"Demon?" she finished for him, with a seductive smile. The scope gathered enough light to make the luminescent glow of the dye flare bright when she flashed him. From the gasp Dougie gave, the effect must have been pretty damn impressive from where he was standing, too.

"Don't believe everything you hear about us," June cooed. "All bad press and nasty rumors. So... what can I do for you tonight, Douglas?"

"I want to be healed," he said. "And I want to be rich."

Dean settled into a rock-solid shooting stance, the cross-hairs on Forsyth's back.

"Weelll," June demurred, running her hands along his shoulders, "The deal is normally one request per customer."

"All right." Douglas stroked her arms. "How about- you heal me, and I make myself rich?"

"Mmmm... I've always had a thing for men with oversized... ambitions. But you do know you'll have a ten year expiration date? I can't change that. It hardly gives you time to amass a fortune, much less time to spend it."

Douglas chuckled. "I'll be rich this time next month. I have a plan- one I think you can appreciate, actually."

"Ooh, some big insider secret?" she purred, closing the slight distance between them.

"I certainly hope it stays a secret," he chuckled. "Murder is frowned upon as a wealth acquisition strategy."

"That's my boy. We're going to have so much fun." June pulled Forsyth's head down for the 'fateful' kiss.

She took a step back, to one side.

So long, Stretch-

A dog barked in the woods close behind him. He flinched, lost aim. Forsyth's head swung towards the sound. He got the cross-hairs on the bastard's chest and squeezed the trigger. The rifle cracked the same instant Forsyth pulled June back against him for another kiss.

Forsyth staggered, June crumpled. But it was Sam who screamed. Dean half-skidded, half-fell down the hillside. Sam had taken Forsyth to the ground and they rolled, struggling. Something metal- Sam's pistol- rattled across the stones.

Dean made it to the road. Sam broke free, grabbed the shovel as he came to his feet. He straddled Forsyth, raised the shovel. He slammed the blade down on the monster beneath him like a guillotine.

Forsyth's body jerked and painted the road with spurts of moon-black blood. Sam dropped the shovel and ran to June as Dean rolled her over. Frothy blood glittered in the moonlight, welling up out of the right side of her chest. She gasped for every wet, drowning breath, eyes wide with pain and panic. Those eyes turned glowing red as the inner lids slid across. She went limp. Sam snatched her up and they ran for the car.

-oOo-

Dean looked down at his hands, hanging between his knees. He hadn't realized till then that they were covered in dried blood. He couldn't muster the will to get up and wash them.

"I don't blame you," Sam spoke softly from across the room. They'd kept the room's width between them since they were shoved off into it a couple of centuries ago.

Dean swallowed. "Don't do that."

"Do what? Tell you that it was an accident? A predictable operational risk? It was, Dean. She'd tell you so herself. Any of us could have been behind that scope and the same thing would have happened."

"Don't absolve me. You ain't the one bleedin' in that bed."

"Neither are you, so pull the damn nails out of your wrists and get off that friggin' martyr's cross."

Dean rubbed a palm against his jeans, the blood cracking and flaking away.

Sam moved to lean a shoulder against the deep window well, staring out at whatever was past the glass. "She's not in pain now," he said. "It's almost... like it was at first. I can feel her but she's... dim."

"Drugged to the gills."

"I hope that's all it is." Sam slapped the window so hard Dean jumped. "Where's your fuckin' angel _now?_"

"I don't know," Dean groaned. Silence bristled between them again.

"She said," Sam whispered, almost too low to hear, a long time later. "That it wouldn't hurt much if she died."

"Bull. It's hurting you now."

"Yeah." Sam rested his forehead against the heel of his hand, still staring out the glass. "I'm thinking she didn't have a clue."

The door opened. "For June Reed?"

"Yes!" they both blurted. Sam was across the room before Dean made it off his chair.

"I'm Dr. Mike Weston, I've been Ms. Reed's attending ER physician. Are you family members?"

"She's my sister," came out in ragged stereo.

The doctor nodded. "As you know, Ms. Reed suffered a very serious gun shot wound to the right chest. We had some precarious moments in Trauma and in surgery, but she made it through. She's in the ICU now, in critical condition."

Dean glanced over at Sam and the look on his face had him grabbing Sam's arm. Kept Sam on his feet, but added another ring of misery. They'd both been worse. Miles of worse. But this was bad enough.

"Is she going to make it?" Sam rasped.

"We're doing everything we can for her, but the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours are uncertain at this point."

"I need to see her."

The doctor nodded. "Come with me. I'll take you to the ICU waiting area." He included Dean then in his glance. "You can go in one at a time, for five minutes every hour."

That was a rule that wasn't going to stand long, judging from the muscle jerking in Sam's jaw.

-oOo-

He let Sam have the first two visitation slots. June was out of it, and he figured if she was aware on any level, she'd be helped more by Sam's presence than his. Dean glanced down at his hands again and this time headed for the men's room.

He was scraping dried blood and caked dirt from under his nails at the sink when a voice spoke almost in his ear, behind him.

"Dean, we must talk."

His head jerked up so fast he almost clocked Cas in the nose. "Geez!" he wheezed to Cas' hastily retreating reflection while he swallowed his heart back down. "Clear your throat or something first!"

He turned then and did some personal space violation of his own. "Where have you been? Why aren't you out there healing her?"

"You and your brother are not my sole responsibility, nor always my highest priority," Cas retorted, blue eyes narrowing a little. He looked away then, towards the ICU, as if he could see through the walls.

Dean bristled and Cas looked back into his eyes again, that brief fire of rebuke gone from his gaze. "That does not mean that I have no concern for you both, or for her."

"Then why don't you get out there and heal her _now?_" Dean bit each word off short.

"There is no need. She is receiving proper care. She will recover in the natural way of her kind."

The wash of relief felt like dropping an over-loaded pack carried way too long. "Then why are we standing here chatting in the men's room if you're not here for her?"

Cas tilted his head.

Dean waited, then the light dawned. "You're here for me? Aw come on, Cas! I thought that whole angel band allegiance deal went into the crapper when we derailed the Apocalypse!"

"I expect you to honor your sworn vow to God, and to his _holy_ angels," Cas answered, with a trace of a smile around the corners of his lips. "But I'm not here to enact that vow."

"Ok, so what- Twenty Questions time now? Is it animal, mineral or vegetable?"

"One of the three. In some ways." He sobered again. "Dean, do not run from what is coming."

"You do realize that makes me want to take off like my head's on fire?"

"That would be most unwise. Stop, drop, and roll. Then stand your ground and open your eyes. But don't put off too many smoke signals while your hair smolders."

"Dude- did you just make a joke?"

Cas gave him one of his 'blink and you miss it' smiles. "I believe I did."

He laid his hand on Dean's shoulder. "But what I've told you isn't one."

That reassuring pressure seemed to linger a heartbeat longer than Cas did. Dean glanced around the washroom, then tilted his head towards the ceiling. "God, if you're listening in right now, you might want to send those guys to Effective Communication 101. I'm pretty sure your messages aren't getting through as originally intended."

He went out and down the hall. Sam was at the nurses' station, and that wasn't his friendly getting-to-know-you stance. He hurried over to try to talk Sam down before somebody called Security.

"Are you blind _and_ stupid? Can't you see that her vitals take a dive every time I leave her?" Sam snarled at the nurse who was standing her ground with admirable professionalism against somebody who looked about half a sentence away from mayhem. "Why can't I stay with her? I'm mobile, I'm perfectly capable of stepping away when she needs care!"

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I'm not authorized to allow that. You have to understand, the rules are in the best interest of all our patients."

"Then you pick up that phone and call someone who is authorized!"

"Like Cas," Dean interjected.

"Excuse me?" the nurse said. Dean lifted a finger to his lips and shook his head as Sam wiped his hands over his face and seemed to deflate.

"Cas?" Sam echoed.

"Yeah. Just now. Walk and talk."

"Not yet. I can't-" Sam turned away, towards the glass wall of ICU opposite the nurses' station. "Dean!"

Cas nodded to them from inside the ward. The shadow of massive wings arched protectively over June's bed.

**_FINIS_**


End file.
